Ch6: The Mysterious Stranger
My name is Harry Dresden, and I'm the only wizard in the Chicago phone book. And I kind of have to make the phone book distinction because Chicago is also the power base for Ancient Mai, and her coterie of wardens, of the High Council.
What is the High Council? Well, they're the wizards in charge, the "good guys." Their job is to make sure magic stays out of sight and under control, and that all wizards meet their standards. And when you cross them, do even a little Black Magic, well, you're not likely to survive it.
As for me, I'm happy to stay out of their way. I generally spend my days helping people out with supernatural problems, or consulting with CPD's Lieutenant Murphy. On my days off, I work on magical theory with Bob, my ghostly advisor in a skull.
Today was a slow day, so I hadn't felt too bad about slipping back into the home portion of my shop/apartment to brew up some tea. Of course, someone had to come in while I was doing that, signaled by the jingling of the bell I'd attached to the door for just such occasions.
"Be with you in a minute!" I shouted towards the front. The kettle was almost done heating up, and I had a serving tray around here somewhere. It was only polite to offer a potential customer a drink.
There was a faint affirmation in reply, and since the door didn't jingle again, I figured they were fine with a little wait. At a guess, they were looking at the magical curios decorating the shop area, the warding symbols carved into the support columns, and the ward tapestries around the door. It's what anyone does their first time in my shop.
I dug out the serving tray and a couple of mugs while I waited on the kettle. The kettle started whistling about the same time I finished giving the mugs a quick scrub, seeing as I couldn't remember when I'd last washed the guest mug. Most folks aren't interested in staying long enough for me to make drinks.
After I got everything settled onto the tray, I headed back into the shop through the connecting corridor to get a look at my prospective client.
He was not at all what I was expecting.
This guy was towering tall. I'm on the upper end of tall at six-foot-three, and he had half a head on me anyways.
He wore a long black leather coat, heavily worn and weathered. Work boots just as worn as the coat were tucked under some faded jeans.
The side profile I could see of his face from where he was studying one of the support beams and its ward sigils showed sharp angles and a crook to his nose that only comes from having your nose broken a time or two. The bags under his eyes suggested he could use several nights of good sleep. But his eyes were lit with an intelligent and interested light.
But what really stood out as I approached was the carved staff he was casually leaning against. Having done a bit of globe trotting in my past, I am passingly familiar with plenty of old, runic languages that people liked to use for magic. So there was no mistaking that what he had was a functional wizard's staff.
Given the way he was eyeing my warding sigils, I was willing to believe he could maybe even use the staff.
Which raised the question as to why a functional practitioner would come to me with his problem instead of Mai or her wardens. I mean, it's kind of their job to help upstanding members of the magical community. Which is why my clientele is almost exclusively from the normal side of the street. Or people who haven't yet realized they are magical. Mostly this is because I am not generally considered to be an "upstanding" magical citizen after that mess with Uncle Justin five years ago, and am thus relegated to the fringes of magical society.
And if my prospective client here isn't upstanding either, I'm not sure I want to get involved with him.
Ancient Mai terrifies me.
"So what brings you to my office today?" I asked, setting the tray down on my pamphlet-filled small table.
He spent a moment more eyeing the sigils before turning to face me.
"I got mugged, lost some magical valuables that I'd like to get back. Figured you could help me track them down so I can take my stuff back," he explained with a shrug.
I frowned. "That sounds more like police work."
"Well, my mugger was a warlock. And seeing as you apparently work with the police sometimes, I would think you'd be interested in making sure they don't run afoul of her again."
There was a small handful of questions that explanation raised. What did he mean by warlock? Context said someone using the Black, though I'd never heard 'warlock' used like that. Why didn't he go to the wardens about Black Magic? It was definitely their job to handle people using Black Magic.
"What do you mean by 'again'?" was the question that managed to make its way past my lips though.
He nodded to the question. "Your friend, Lieutenant Murphy, ID'd her as Sharon Morill, an ex-ME, who is into necromancy by the sound of it."
"Oh," I mumbled. That was bad news. Really bad news.
Sharon was, in fact, a necromancer. A powerful necromancer with an unknown endgame. When I'd questioned her about the life insurance scam, she said it was just a means to an end. If Sharon really was back in town and stealing magical artifacts, then things were about to get messy. And dangerous.
"That really sounds like a job for the wardens," I told him.
A faint frown touched his lips, and he turned to face me directly for the first time, throwing into relief several distinct facial scars. "If that's your professional opinion, I'd take your help contacting them," he hedged. "The warlock does need to be handled. But I'd rather leave them out of it."
I may have backed up a step at that.
"Look, it's not that there's anything necessarily illegal in my bag, just some stuff that the wardens might confiscate for its potential use in illegal activities," he rushed to reassure me. "And I don't want them taking my stuff." That sounded like a threat. Or maybe a declaration that if the wardens did take his stuff, he was going to take it back, probably via force.
"Uh huh," I said with heavy skepticism. "It's not the book's fault it happens to have a demon summoning ritual in it. You just have it for the demon sealing ritual. Or something like that."
An amused grin touched his lips. "Yeah, something like that."
It wasn't as reassuring an answer as the guy hoped it would be. I still wasn't seeing any reason not to hand this case over to the wardens.
He sighed. "Look, man, I won't push you to go against your morals or anything. If you don't want to help me, just say so and I'm gone." He didn't look very enthused about being turned down. In fact, he looked more resigned to it than anything. And I realized that the reason he may not have gone to Mai and the wardens in the first place was because he didn't believe they'd help him if he asked. I knew that feeling rather intimately myself, being a near-exile of the Council. Though it did raise the question as to why the Council didn't trust him. Or why he didn't trust the Council.
"But consider this: Pure knowledge doesn't really fall neatly into good and evil until you hit the extremes, so it's what you use that knowledge to do that determines the morality of it. Kind of like how some poisons can be used as medicine at the right dosage, while others are just plain too deadly. And too much medicine can basically be a poison."
I have to admit, I had not expected the cliff notes philosophy lecture. But it did tell me that this guy was fairly open minded about knowledge on its own, yet very strict with its application.
"I need my stuff back so that it won't be used as poison," he pleaded.
Now I had to question how much I trusted Mai and her wardens. And whether or not I trusted this complete stranger more than them.
The Council had let me keep Bob, despite the belief that I was subverted by the Black. Whether that was to encourage me to slip up by using his readily available knowledge of the Black, or simply an enduring test of my ability to resist the Black's addictive qualities, I couldn't really say. I am fairly certain though, that it wasn't because Bob was like family to me, my one true friend. After all, Morgan was still in the habit of popping up out of nowhere to question the legality of the magic I, or someone involved with one of my cases, was doing. Not to mention that I was also, apparently, a cautionary tale for all the wardens-in-training in Chicago. And that my story was taught in such a way that they would be predisposed to suspect me of using the Black, or being the bad guy.
On the other hand, this stranger was openly asking me for help in a gray zone with the option to back out, or call the wardens on him if I so choose. It was a level of trust I honestly wasn't used to seeing from someone in the supernatural community. Especially upon first brush with them.
I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. "Fine. I'll hear you out."
He grinned. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet," I warned him. "I still might turn this over to the wardens."
"That's your choice," he acquiesced with a shrug.
I got the feeling he didn't think I would go to them at this point. I wasn't sure he was wrong.
And honestly, I appreciated that he was being so mellow about the possibility I'd hand him and his problem over to the wardens. This guy held himself like Morgan did on the few occasions Mai's head enforcer relaxed around me. Which meant that the duster-clad wizard could probably kick my ass. I appreciate not having to worry about the state of my ass. Though admittedly, helping this guy may end up with me ass deep in alligators anyways.
"Have a seat and explain, Mister….?" I trailed off, realizing I still hadn't gotten his name yet.
"McCoy. Harry McCoy," he introduced himself, taking the offered seat.
"Harry Dresden," I introduced myself in turn, just to be polite, and took my own seat. "Small world, huh? Both of us being Harry."
"I guess so," Mr. McCoy agreed, looking mildly amused at the idea. "Go ahead and ask your questions."
"Let's start with how you got mugged and go from there."
So Mr. McCoy explained the bag snatching demon creature, the ambush by Sharon, and his trip down to CPD with Murphy and Kirmani. Personally, I was a bit envious that he only got a small dose of Sharon's magic drug. It had not been a pleasant experience for me coming off of it. And he didn't get duped into thinking he was married to Sharon's accomplice either.
I also couldn't help but wonder exactly what kind of wizard feels the need to run around in a big, bulletproof coat. The "dueling" scars on his face were suggestive of regular combat, but combat wizardry was almost exclusively a warden thing, which he obviously wasn't. Besides, I'd never even heard of the wardens enchanting their clothes into armor, despite being a very good, and reasonable, idea.
Hell, maybe I needed to get a bulletproof coat. I'd been shot at a time or two, and lucky enough to not get hit. After all, luck only goes so far.
But mostly I was bugged by how Mr. McCoy kept dancing around what was in his bag that would interest someone like Sharon. Here I was, risking the wrath of the wardens and Ancient Mai, and he still wouldn't tell me what was so valuable and iffy to be worth that risk.
"Okay. You've got the police searching from the normal end and want my help searching from the magical end. But I'd still like to know exactly what—"
My question was interrupted by the jingle of the bells on the door.
"Why am I not surprised?" Murphy huffed, arms crossed, with Detective Kirmani standing in the doorway behind her.
"Lieutenant," Mr. McCoy greeted her, raising his mug of tea in salute.
The absolutely amused look on his face, and Murphy's own look of sheer annoyance, did not bode well for my future.